White Meat
by Amy Renee
Summary: Tag to 11.17, "Red Meat." The brothers deal with the aftermath and other weights on their shoulders.


Tag to 11.17, "Red Meat." Because they always seem to leave you wanting/needing more after these scenes. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing some straight up brotherly smoop, but I typically try to stay as true to the characters as I think I can, even if I stretch it a bit. So no complete and total Chick Flick Moments, even if Dean admits he loves Chick Flicks after 11 years.

* * *

White Meat

Dean's eyes went from Corbin's body to where the shot came from and settled on his brother. Sam stood there, gun in hand, like some kind of drunken hero at the end of a movie, one where he shoots the bad guy just in the nick of time. Which is exactly what he did, saving Dean's life. The fact that Sam looked like utter and complete crap initially registered second with Dean. All that registered first was the fact his brother was standing there alive in front of him. He'd heard it from the reaper Billie, had briefly spoken to Sam on the phone, but now he was seeing him with his own eyes. The relief was palpable.

"It took you long enough" Dean breathed. Sam swayed, winced and his legs buckled, sending him sprawling to the floor. Dean pushed himself off of the floor, his throat feeling tight where Corbin had tried to strangle him. He got to Sam in a few strides, dropping down. He knelt in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to look into his downed face with his hair obscuring his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean questions lifting Sam's head and pushing his hair back with his hands on either side of Sam's face. Sam is pale, almost gray, and despite the sheen of sweat visible on his face, his skin is cold and dry. His brows are pulled together and his eyes are squinted against the pain. His head falls forward against Dean's shoulder and Dean grasps the back of his neck. He remembers Michelle. He looks up and sees the young woman leaning against the wall, hands over her mouth. Tears are streaming down her vulnerable face and her eyes are huge and petrified. Dean feels for the poor woman but he has more pressing concerns right now.

"My brother needs help," he tells her. Her gaze leaves Corbin's still form and she stares at him. He knows she's taking in everything that's just happened, taking in the fact that her new husband had become a monster and was just killed in front of her, but he doesn't have time for this.

"Michelle!" he barks. She jumps, hands dropping from her face. "He needs help now." Recognition shows in the small woman's eyes. She nods slightly, looks at her husband's body once more, then pushes herself up and runs down the hall. That taken care of, Dean turns his attention back to Sam as Sam begins to waver. A groan escapes him.

"Hey, hey, hey. Easy, Sammy. I gotcha. I gotcha." Dean repositions himself and leans Sam's back against him. Sam curls in on himself, arm across the bullet wound that's let loose a fresh crimson flow again. His face is etched in lines of pain. Dean moves Sam's arm out of the way and places the side of Sam's already red soaked jacket over the wound and pushes his hand down over top. Sam inhales sharply.

"Sorry, Sammy. Sorry."

"You do that when you're nervous, you know," Sam says after a moment.

"What?"

"Repeat things," Sam answers softly.

He supposed he hadn't really realized he did that.

"S'okay," Sam affirms with a small smile, eyes squeezed shut. Truth is, even though it meant Dean was freaking out so things must be bad, it was something Sam had found comfort in during the times he was injured throughout his life. He leans back against Dean, the back of his head now on his brother's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Fantastic," Dean replies. Sam chuckles and it turns into a cough. Dean tightens the arm around his brother's middle and the hand on his shoulder a little. Sam attempts to control his harsh breathing, taking slow deep breaths. Dean can literally feel the energy leaving Sam's body. Utter adrenaline had miraculously kept his brother going. Dean knew that what fueled that adrenaline had been Sam's urgency to get to him, to stop Corbin before he could hurt him. _Aw, man._

"You good?" Dean knows it's a stupid question, but knowing Sam's response and the fact that his brother can answer it brings some much needed comfort; keep things normal; distract.

"Amazing," Sam says. He's now leaning back almost completely on his brother, eyes closed. Dean scoffs.

"And you said it would be fun."

"I said it _could_ be fun."

"Yeah well, I think we're taking a break from camping for a while, Sammy."

"S'fine by me," Sam almost whispers. Dean looks down at him. His features are slack. His heart clenches.

"Sam?" he calls, shaking his brother slightly. Nothing.

"Sam!" he commands, shaking him a little harder. Sam's eyes blink open, unfocused.

"Still here, Dean," he mutters. Dean sighs, relieved.

"You stay here," he tells Sam. Sam's quiet breathing is his only response. He looks up, feeling a sense of desperation: Where the hell was Michelle with the doctor? As though someone had sensed his thoughts, the doctor, aided by Michelle came down the halls towards them with a gurney. Finally.

Dr. Kessler also spared Corbin's body a glance before turning her full attention to Sam. She and Michelle lowered the gurney and they helped Dean lay Sam on it. As they raised it back up, Dean took in the sight of his brother, blood soaking his shirts and down the front of his jeans, droplets on his shoes. _Jesus_. He looked at the doctor. She looked slightly confused and in pain, the red cut in her hairline a testament to that. No wonder it had taken a bit for her to get to them, but she looked focused on her job. _Good,_ Dean thought. Besides, they'd had more precarious medical care.

* * *

Dr. Kessler wouldn't allow Dean to follow Sam into the room they had wheeled the gurney. "Tell me he'll be okay," Dean had asked. "I have to see what's going on, and I'll do everything I can to help him," Dr. Kessler had replied. That was almost three hours ago. By now, local PD and a couple of troopers had come and mostly gone. They'd taken Corbin and the sheriff's bodies and questioned Dean and Michelle. He answered their questions, keeping the story in line with what he had told Michelle and Corbin to say when they had initially come in. He had nodded to Michelle, who sadly nodded back, knowing she would say the same, or close to it anyway. All the while his mind had been on Sam. Images of his bleeding brother and recurring thoughts he couldn't seem to suppress:

 _If I had killed that wolf a moment sooner…_

 _It was MY gun. The wolf used MY gun to shoot my brother …_

Then he had left Sam for dead. Left him lying on the floor and Sam had woken up alone in that cabin. Then he put himself through hell to get to Dean. And Dean had… Dean scrubbed a hand across his face.

When he finally saw Dr. Kessler again he shot up from his chair anxiously. The woman looked a little rough, as to be expected: It had been a long day. He tried to gauge her demeanor anyway, needing to know how Sam was.

"He'll be okay," she assured him firstly. Dean let out a breath he had been holding for what seemed like a long time. "His body's suffering from the trauma: He lost a lot of blood and he's a little dehydrated. The bullet was close range so it didn't do a lot of damage and missed the vital organs. I gave him two blood transfusions, fluids and a good dose of antibiotics." Dean sighed, relieved.

"Honestly I don't know how he managed to get himself here on his own in his condition," she said, amazement in her voice. Dean's mouth tightened and he looked down. "Then again," she began, "maybe it's not that hard to figure out." Dean looked up at her. She looked at him with something like admiration in her eyes. She paused then, looking hesitant. Dean could guess what was coming.

"What I saw... Well, I don't know what I saw." Dean was about to saying something but she stopped him. "And I don't think I want to know," she said. Dean nodded, understanding. "I talked with Michelle," she stated simply. "I think that I'm alive because of you, and so is she. So... thank you." He nodded at her again with a thin smile. "I also figure that you don't need any more attention drawn to you. I think I can arrange for you to stay here tonight, but tomorrow…"

"We'll be gone," Dean finished.

"Sam will be okay to travel but he needs time to rest."

"Thank you," Dean said, and he meant it. She smiled at him.

"You can see him now."

She began to turn away and Dean was eager to follow, to see Sam, but he stopped himself. "Doc?" She turned, looking at him.

"When... "

 _When I left him._ God, he couldn't say it, but that's what he did wasn't it? He collected himself.

"He didn't have a pulse. He wasn't breathing. How could that have happened?"

Dr. Kessler looked at him a moment. "Your brother had his oxygen cut off. When that happened…"

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, alarmed. Dr. Kessler sighed sympathetically.

"He was suffocated," she told him somewhat cautiously as she watched him process the information. Surprise then anger crossed his expression.

 _"He's slowing us down."_

 _"I don't know. He just went."_

 _"He's gone."_

Corbin.

Dean hadn't heard much through the static on the phone when he had gotten the call from Sam, but he had heard Sam say Corbin's name, and the way in which he also said it had sent him back into the building- just in time. Of course he knew.

That son of a bitch. Dean wished he could kill him again.

Dean's fists clenched subconsciously and the muscles in his jaw bounced. He looked back at the doctor, eyes regretful and dangerous, waiting. She went on, understanding the anger was not towards her, but not wanting to set him over just the same. Her tone softened.

"When that happened, he went into shock. It caused his vitals to slow dramatically, to a point where they were barely noticeable… It's kind of a way for the body to not work so hard; to try to allow itself to recover," she explained. Dean looked down. Dr. Kessler studied him.

"You couldn't have known," she told him.

"I need to see him," Dean said looking up, his voice rough.

"Of course." She turned once more, leading the way.

When Dean entered the room where Sam lay and took one look at his brother, his heart sank. He had the confirmation Sam would be fine, and he'd seen Sam in worse scenarios, but it never got easier. Sam lay unnaturally still and lax, IV's in his arm, breathing tube under his nose and pale complexion. Though, he looked better than he had earlier. That was something.

"I have to follow up with the police," Dr. Kessler said, "I'll leave you two." Dean took up the chair next to the bed and habitually watched Sam's chest rise and fall and listened for that rhythm, the one he knew so well and that told him his brother was still here. He'd wait for Sam to wake up. He wouldn't let him wake up alone again.

A couple of hours later, after Dean had started to doze off in spite of himself, Sam woke.

"Dean?"

The hoarse yet soft sound of his name immediately got his attention. Dean's head bounced upright and his eyes met Sam's tired ones.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How'r you feeling?" Dean inquired.

"Like I got shot and ran a marathon." Dean huffs a small laugh. "I'm just tired," Sam sighs.

"Yeah I bet."

"What happened?"

"Blood loss and shock. Doc says you'll be fine."

"Michelle okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she'll be okay." He meant at least in regard to her physical injuries. The others… Sam nods.

"You knew he was bit," Dean says.

"I saw the bite at the cabin."

Dean swallows and looks down. "That why he tried to take you out?"

Sam looks at his brother and shakes his head. "No. I didn't see it until he had his hand around my throat."

Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face. Sam knows that gesture, and he knows the look in Dean's eyes.

"Sam… I shouldn't have -"

"Dean, don't," Sam says steadily, "None of this is on you. Okay?" Dean doesn't meet Sam's eyes.

"Dean." His brother meets his firm gaze. "Okay?" Sam assures him.

He doesn't doubt that Sam believes that. He doubts his belief in it. He'll always remember the unbearable feeling of losing Sam, of seeing his too still and bloody body. He feels a weight on him for what he did after he thought he'd lost Sam- again. He feels it because he knows how Sam would feel about it. A long road of repetition; Sam had tried to make him realize it, no matter how much they needed one another.

"Yeah. Okay," he tells Sam carefully.

"Good," Sam states with finality.

Sam exhales deeply, turning his head towards the ceiling and closing his eyes, exhausted.

"Better get some sleep there, Schwarzenegger," Dean says patting Sam's arm. Sam chuckles and a moment later his breathing evens out. Dean watches him for a while, hand still on his arm.

Dean turns his head from his brother's side to look at the door behind him, now thinking about Michelle, who was now alone and hurting. She had helped him. The woman's sincerity throughout this, despite everything she had been though had struck him. With Sam resting and on his way to being on the mend, he raised himself from the chair and walked into the hallway. He found Michelle sitting on the bench, feet away from where she had watched her husband die. He takes a seat beside her.

"Hey."

"Hey," she replies quietly.

"How you doing?"

Michelle doesn't answer, struggling to hold back tears.

"How's your brother?" she says instead.

"The doc says that, um... well, when Corbin choked him, Sam's body went into shock and his breathing, his heartbeat slowed down to almost nothing." He was careful how he said it. While he harbored more than his fair share of ill feelings towards her late husband, she had loved him, and he didn't want to hurt her any more than she had been. "So he was, uh... he was just mostly dead. But he'll be okay," he finished.

"Must be nice," Michelle says to him, and whether she meant to or not, it makes Dean feel just a little guilty. She turns to look at him.

"That wasn't... Corbin wasn't a killer."

"I know," he tells her.

"He did it for me," she cries.

He understands she is trying to makes sense of what Corbin had done. Whether she knows the truth or not, she has to find some kind of solace somewhere. She has to believe in something. He feels the need to leave her with something more than this.

"Michelle, this is gonna be very hard. But you will be okay," he reassures her, "And, eventually... eventually you'll get back to normal."

She sighs. "No, I won't." She smiles gently at Dean and turns away as tears spill down her face.

"They said I could leave. An hour ago. But, where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together…" she turns back to Dean, "I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that."

Her eyes and her words sink slowly into him. He recognizes both very well, and he knows better. That haunted emptiness, of knowing you have nothing because what you did have is gone. Where would he have gone if Sam had really been dead? He didn't know. But he did know Michelle was right, there is no normal after that. There's nothing more he can say to her. There's nothing that's going to take that away.

And there will be nothing to take that away when they face the Darkness. After everything they had been through together, this time, there will be no going back. Where were they supposed to go from there? He sits there a moment, unmoving, unthinking, just- there. When his first thought comes through, it's of one thing:

Sam.

He gets up and turns toward Michelle. She offers him a small smile. He leans down and kisses her cheek, and then walks away, back towards his brother.

* * *

Sam continued to sleep, and Dean remained by his side, content with not going anywhere for the time being. Some hours later- Dean had lost track- it was dark and he yet again was awoken by the sound of his brother's voice.

"You should find your own bed you know."

Dean sat up and realized he'd fallen asleep in the chair with his head and arms sprawled across the side of Sam's bed.

"Yeah well, yours was right here." He half-scrambled for the words as he did the same to sit upright and regather himself. Sam snickered quietly.

"Oh," Dean exclaimed as he stretched the stiffness out of his upper body. "And it sucks."

Sam watched him, smirking. "You were worried?"

"Huh?" Dean voices, pulling an arm over his head then letting drop, "No. I – No."

Sam breathes out a laugh.

Dean settled back into his chair and a moment of silence stretched between them. Sam looked at his brother.

"What is it?" he asked him, brows furrowing.

Dean sighed reluctantly. Sam simply waited him out.

"I uh…" Dean thought a moment, "I talked with Michelle." He looked at Sam, his face passive, eyes waiting and patient. Over 20 years of watching his big brother, Sam knew him.

"She said something that got me thinking about some things." Dean looked down, mind drifting.

"What did she say?"

"She said that after everything they had survived together, she had watched the one she loved die. That there was no… no normal after that."

Sam's brows pull together and he sighs. "She's right. There isn't." Dean looks at him. He sees that same haunted knowing look behind his eyes.

"Yeah, I don't know. I just…" Dean shifts uncomfortably.

"Dean, we'll find a way. We always do. In the meantime, it's like you said, all that matters…"

"Yeah," Dean says, resigned.

 _All that matters, all that has ever mattered, is that we're together._

"So, uh, you feeling okay?" Dean asks, clearing his throat.

Sam nods. "Are _you_?"

Dean returns the gesture. Silence stretches again.

"So does that mean you love me?" Sam says. Dean looks at him. Sam's grinning.

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam smiles.

"And if you bled all over my car…"

"You'll kill me?" Sam ribs.

"Not funny."

"It's a little funny."

A small light-hearted smirk spreads on Dean's face despite himself.

"I think we need to turn down your morphine drip."

* * *

Dean never saw Michelle again. She had left before the next day. Dean had thought she would stop and say goodbye, but wasn't surprised when she didn't. She had been hurt and scared but had done what she needed to; she was stronger than she thought, and he really did hope she would be okay. Sam had been cleared to be discharged. Dean went out to the car, parked haphazardly alongside the building in Sam's hurry. He had gotten Sam some clothes from his bag, the ones he'd come in wearing considered a lost cause to try to clean up. He waited out in the hallway while Sam changed. Dr. Kessler walked up to him, the small butterfly bandage still on the cut across her hairline. She handed him a couple of pill bottles.

"I already told him but now I'm telling you: Make sure he takes these, and gets plenty of rest."

"Oh I will," he assures her. "I gotta say this is one well-prepped Urgent Care." Dr. Kessler chuckles.

"Well I used to be a surgeon," she says matter-of-factly. Dean's eyebrows raise. "I got tired of seeing people come in that needed help and couldn't afford it, and having to wait for hours to get help. So I traded my crazy salary and even crazier hours to run a real clinic where there wasn't a hospital nearby."

"Well I'm glad you did."

The door behind Dean clicks open and Sam steps out.

"Hey. Ready?"

"Ha. You bet. Thank you, doc," Sam tells Dr. Kessler with a grateful expression.

"Sure thing. Just try not to stand in the path of a bullet next time," she jokes.

"Heh. Yeah, I'll try."

"You two take care."

The three exchange a silent goodbye and Sam and Dean turn and walk out the door. Dr. Kessler watches them leave.

"So, that's it, huh? Two quarts O-neg, and you're good to go," Dean says as they exit the building, still a little amazed but thankful that Sam will be recovering so quickly. After all, he had thought Sam was dead.

Sam walks gingerly down the steps, muscles pulling at his wound. Dean places a hand on the back of his shoulder.

"How is she?" Sam asks, wincing.

"She's strong. She'll be all right. Those stitches gonna hold?"

"Oh, yeah. Professional grade. Couple days of antibiotics and some bed rest, and I'm back to normal."

 _There's no getting back to normal._

Sam groans as he settles himself into the car. A question had dawned on him a while ago:

"Hey, so, what did you do?" Dean looks at him. "When you thought I was dead? What did you do?"

Dean's throat tightened. He ignored it. "Thought about redecorating your room. You know, putting in a Jacuzzi, a nice disco ball, really class up the joint."

Sam laughs, "Right. Seriously."

"What, I, uh... I knew you weren't dead." He knows Sam won't buy it. He'd never leave him. It's more about saving face, and he hopes, at least for now, that's all Sam takes it as. They had talked about not doing something stupid for one another again, about changing. If Sam were to find out Dean had overdosed himself to talk to Billie and beg to get Sam back, he'd be pissed. Worse, he might feel let down. Especially seeing as how he hadn't been dead to begin with, and then Dean would have been. He supposed it may come out eventually, but for now, he wanted Sam to heal and to just be alive. Billie had been right: He couldn't live without Sam. That was no secret.

"Right," Sam says, disbelieving and good natured.

"I knew," defends Dean.

Sam scoffs. He knows Dean would never willingly leave him hurt. He is just trying to save face. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, there's something that conflicts that. Then again, he knew Dean had been scared. Scared of losing him. That was no secret. No more than it was that he couldn't- wouldn't- do this without Dean. He was just glad he'd gotten there in time and Dean was okay.

The time might come when they would have to finally choose the greater good over each other. Ready or not. Hell, it might come very soon, but it wasn't this time. Dean starts the engine and the Impala rumbles to life. He puts it gear and hits the gas and they leave it behind them. In this moment they're alive and together, so they'd keep doing what they do; moving forward until they can't anymore.

* * *

Notes: The title: White meat simply comes after you cook red meat- I was just looking for something successional. Also, I felt the need to give some sort of reasoning regarding Sam's ridiculously quick recovery time and the fact that they weren't admitted to a real hospital.


End file.
